The Grey Areas
by DangerouslyImpulsive
Summary: She betrayed all she'd known and loved. He abandoned those long ago. Fitting they'd end up together, more so that they'd be torn apart. Learning that things aren't black and white is inevitable. She just learned it the hard way. SSHG. Rating may change.
1. Intro

**The Grey Areas**

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Rating: T (rating subject to change)

Summary: She betrayed all she'd know, and loved. He'd abandoned those long ago. Fitting they'd end up together, more so that they'd be torn apart. Learning that things aren't black and white is inevitable. She just learned it the hard way.

**Authors Note: This is going to be a frustrating, confusing, possibly dark story. I'm prone to heavy introspection and things not being what they appear. It may start with sugar, spice and everything nice, but it only gets darker from there. Actually, it doesn't even start nice. I love irony. I love making people cry. The Greeks had it right—a catalyst is one of the great things you can get from the arts.**

**Also, the timeline of this story is like that of **_**The Odyssey**_** (Homer). I start in the middle, jump to the past and finish in the future. If you can keep up, I commend you.**

**February 2011: I'm updating again, and plan to do so regularly. **

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

I don't believe in love. I believe in lust, greed, romance, anger, jealousy, pain, desire, but not love. I don't want someone to love me. I want someone to tear down the Berlin Wall because I'm on the other side. I want someone who goes crazy, out of his mind; I want a force of nature. I want to feel it all. Jealousy, lust, anger, passion. I want to feel it.

But I don't want love. What is love compared? If you're asked to define love, what do you say?

Wanting someone so badly it hurts? That's lust.

Not being able to breathe without him near you? Touching you? That's passion.

Dying for someone? Quite frankly my love, that's stupidity.

Give me one definition of love. Simply love.

You can't.


	2. Prologue

_A dark laugh escaped his throat and I felt his breath graze my check—giving me shivers. My eyes closed involuntarily and my head tilted to the side. The hand crept up my side again, and I turned. He was closer then expected, leaning over me in the darkness. I bit my lip, and his eyes traveled to my mouth._

_I could barley hear over my own rushing pulse as he cupped the back of my neck with his hand and brought my face up to his. The feeling was new, the attention borrowed. I felt as if the world had been reduced to the feeling of my lips against his, and everything else was insignificant in comparison. __The kiss was, at first, merely a gentle, lingering touch of the lips...a hesitation on both our parts as we touched, as if we both were taking the time to memorize the feeling before we parted. _

_The kiss grew to be slow and sensual, but not cautious. His tongue ran carefully along the divot between mine and I opened my mouth slowly. As the barriers between us were bridged, I drew his lower lip into my mouth and bit lightly; I was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath, and he pushed me firmly into the wall. In turn, he broke from my lips and moved his attention to my neck—traveling down my collarbone to my shoulder. Biting and then soothing with his tongue, his lips were followed by a column of fire_

_000000000000000000_

Damn. Here it was again. The elephant in the room.

No, Hermione told herself, it had never happened. Ever.

She sank back onto her pillows and inhaled the familiar scent of rosewood and cider. She had been living in her new room for two months now even though the school year had only been 'in session' for half of that time. She had, to no one's surprise, been appointed as Head Girl and, although she hadn't wanted to have to deal with rounds and other duties on top of NEWT's, she had been given no choice. So, a month earlier than everyone except the teachers and Head Boy, had moved in to her own room. True, it wasn't too much bigger than her old rooms, but it was _hers_ and she had her own bathroom and access to the kitchens for food to boot. Although Harry and Ron had been in her room many times, Hermione had never told them of her connection to the kitchens. And, even though she ordered hot cider so much her room smelled of the stuff, she felt that the boy's would abuse the privilege.

The curly haired girl stretched and turned over, looking at the clock. It was 2:48 and she was not tired in the slightest. Contrary to popular belief, with the exception of her previous roommates, she was more of a night owl than an early bird and was often up until midnight or later on school nights. After making the Polyjuice potion in her 2nd year, she had been using Myrtles bathroom to make dreamless sleep or drowsiness potion so that she could sleep on the weekends to make-up for the lost time on the weekdays.

Hermione rolled over onto her stomach and bent her leg, arranging her body into a kind of horizontal pirouette position on the stomach. Closing her eyes, she waited for the potion to take affect again, and stayed in that same position for another seven and a half hours.

-------------------------------

Hermione went to her window and climbed onto the cushions placed in the round cove there after she awoke the next morning. Leaning against one of her favorite pillows and bringing her legs up to her chest, Hermione looked out at the Quiddich pitch. Harry and Ron always practiced on Sunday's and left her to her own devices. Currently, Ron was circling and Harry was chasing him. Even from this distance, Hermione could tell Ron was on the Firebolt and Harry on Ron's Cleansweep; by switching brooms like this, Ron could easily outrun Harry and trying to keep up was good for Harry.

Hermione pursed her lips and closed the part of her mind that reminded her of last year down. True, she had 'gotten over it' but she didn't think she could ever think of it without shedding tears. They had been so lucky, the three of them had. The _Golden Trio_ had all survived, more than most families could say. Ron was unscathed through the battle, escaping with only a few broken ribs and cuts on his shins. However, Harry and Hermione were a different story. Harry, who everyone expected to die (with the exception of Dumbledore), had suffered lacerations on his arms and legs as well as one long slash running from shoulder blade, to shoulder blade then down to the opposite hip pared with several broken ribs and a cracked scull that had everyone worried. Yes, Harry had been lucky—but not as lucky as Hermione. Hermione balled her hands into fists and dug her nails into the palms of her hands. She would _not_ think about that! Not now, not ever.

She had been living comfortably for two months and had weekly meetings with the new headmistress to discuss the goings-on as well as 'head girl business.'

Luckily, the Dark Lords downfall had happened within the year, and Hermione's class—along with the rest of the school—was returning to Hogwarts, basically in the same manor they would have the previous year except for the amount of first years, which had doubled. The returning students had high hopes for the coming year because of the lack of fear, death and the ever-present threat of the Dark Lord.

True, there had been many losses. Some of the students were still grieving over lost relatives and others over classmates that had perished during the Final Battle. The golden Trio were still together as well, however, they were sobered by new maturity gained and the loss of five of the Order. The five Order members lost in the fight against Voldemort were, perhaps, the most grieved and Harry, who had taken Dumbledore's place as head of the Order, had taken the losses personally. Dumbledore had been lost, of course. Both Remus and Tonks had been taken from them during an undercover mission early in the war. Their bodies had never been found but they had been declared dead after a year of being MIA. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Percy Weasley were two other order members lost died in the final battle. Percy had come around and been accepted back into the Weasley family only three weeks before the final battle and was sorely missed by everyone, even his twin brothers although they would never admit it.

Hermione brought herself back to the present and looked out the window again. Ron and Harry were landing which meant they would be up here to get her for breakfast in about half an hour. Sliding of the cushions resignedly Hermione made her way to the bathroom—determined to get in a shower before breakfast.

The weekend had snuck up faster then usual. Harry, Ron and Hermione, as well as the rest of the 7th years, were allowed to leave Hogwarts grounds on weekends as they were all legal adults and most could apperate. This rule saw the Golden Trio trudging down past the Lake and front gates. While she normally loved escaping school for a day or so on the weekends and working on her 'projects' Hermione was dreading it today. She'd had the strangest dream every day this week. Lapsing into silence, she remembered the gruesome details.

_00000000000000000_

_Grinding the root into a fine powder, I was very aware of the presence at my back. Trying to ignore it, I finished the potion with steady hands. It wouldn't do to fall apart now. _

"_Very good, Misss Hermione." I flinched as his voice slid over me, but hid it well._

"_Yes my Lord." I murmured, feeling cool hands on my hips a moment later._

_00000000000000000_

The worse part about her dream was that it wasn't a dream. It was a memory. 

When they passed through the gate, Harry and Ron immediately appeared to Grimwald Place—not waiting for Hermione to look up. She sighed; it had been like this since the war. Harry, Ron and she had been disconnected somehow. They still went through the motions, but there was always a wall there. A barricade they couldn't overcome. It was probably her fault. Apperating with a resigned expression, Hermione entered the ancient house directly behind Harry and Ron. They two headed to the library, and she walked straight to the lab. Her lab.

It had been an unused workroom, but when the Order lost their Potions Master, she turned it into a potion lab for herself. Here, she had brewed potions that had saved, killed and helped win the war. Flipping on the lights, she moved slowly, hands traveling lightly over the countertops. A small smile graced her features and irony brightened her eyes slightly. No one would ever guess the things done in here; the internal battles both won and lost while brewing. No one would ever know the sacrifice she had decided on here. The sacrifice that had won the war.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

She worked for the rest of the afternoon, content to absorb herself in the individual ingredients as well as the potion as an entirety. After she had finished brewing the wolfsbane that had been stewing for the past week, Hermione stretched her back, neck and yawned. Before she left, Hermione walked to the end table, cut her finger lightly on the blade in her hand and reached under it. Smearing a few drops of blood onto the table's bottom, Hermione reached with her other hand and caught the book that had suddenly appeared there. Healing her finger with a wordless, wandless spell, she opened the journal and flipped to page 178.

Here was her account of the war, every day had a page and each page had a detailed account of information gained, reveled and needed from the day the war officially started until it ended. Page 178 fell open, read many times over. Exhaling loudly in disgust at herself, Hermione flipped back to page 42—closer to the beginning of the war. Closer to the birth of her secret.


	3. Chapter One: Choice

**Enjoy.**

**(Music: Blue Foundation)**

000000000000000000000000000

She waited until it was dark and the house was asleep. Silently getting out of bed, she changed into a long dark green traveling cloak, bought specifically for this purpose. Slowly, she opened the door, careful not to wake the other occupant. Glancing behind her as she shut the door, Hermione glimpsed a flash of orange hair poking out of a blue coverlet. The sight caused a weight to settle in the pit of her stomach.

_It's not too late, _the thought flashed through her mind, unbidden. It was borne over her guilt in making this irrevocable decision. And make no mistake, it was irrevocable, it had become so when the idea first formed. It had become so as she watched their only spy bleed onto hard wood of the foyer.

It had become so the night she watched her potions professor die.

Sneaking out was a simple thing; the hardest part was yet to come. Trying to let the cool air relaxed her, Hermione's nerves were sent into hyper drive by the very breath meant to compose her. She knew the risks; the trust, and her life, that would be lost if she were discovered, by either side. That was the line she had chosen to talk, the tightrope she didn't know she would ever have to tread.

One more breath, and she dissapperated.

0000000000000000000000000000

Arriving at the prescribed meeting place, Hermione looked up at the source of her nightmares. Stepping forward, she felt a shift in the Death Eater's ranks as she refused, or simply didn't, bow or kneel. Still moving forward, Hermione's eyes shifted from side to side; searching for one particular face. However, her search was unsuccessful, as she knew it would be.

When she reached the dais, Voldemort smiled—the expression giving him an eerie, creepy air. Raising his wand, he didn't curse her (as everyone was expecting given her lack of submissiveness) but cast a silencing charm so no other could hear what they were saying.

"Well, well, well. Now, thiss iss a treat," started the powerful, serpentine tyrant. His red eyes moved up and down her body, taking in the blonde in front of him.

"And, can you tell me _why_" his voice took on a threatening tone that also conveyed his extreme pleasure in intimidating her. He continued, "you dare to wear a glamour in front of your sself-proclaimed lord?" The red eyes narrowed into slits as they attempted to catch the deep green ones of Hermione's glamoured self.

"My lord—I knew you would be able to see my glamour's magical signature. I wish only to keep my identity a secret from _others_" she tried implying that there were certain others, but wasn't sure if it worked, "so that I may have a more useful purpose."

At her statement, eyebrows you could not see shot up.

Sure she had his attention at least, Hermione continued, "My lord, I will—of course—be willing to share my identity with you. I wish only to divulge who I truly am in private, or" she hurried on, aware her story sounded specious, "in front of a few of your loyal Death Eaters so long as the group doesn't include a specific person." She struggled not to meet his eyes and keep all thoughts of the _specific person_ from her mind; it was much like trying not to think of a pink elephant.

The tyrant circled her—letting her see his open examination of her perfect, blonde haired and forest green-eyed body. He came to a stop just in front of her. She continued to avoid eye contact. "Very well. You sshall have your wish." He said after a thorough examination. He snapped his fingers and Hermione could hear breathing coming from all sides. The silencing harm had obviously been lifted.

"Any one elsse have anything to report?" asked Lord Voldemort. "No? Good, good…the meeting iss adjourned then. Selwyn, Dolihouf, Ssn—" her eyes cut upward to meet his, a warning, "Sscabior." He finished, "Sstay."

The field emptied quickly, and Hermione continued to meet the Dark Lords gaze. He looked delighted…she thought. When only Voldemort, Selwyn, Dolihouf and Scabior were left standing around the blonde, she took a deep breath and started.

"My Lord, I have been harboring thoughts of leaving the Order for some time now; when news that your only spy within their ranks might be passing information to your enemies. I wish to join the ranks of your Death Eaters as a spy within the Order and on your own spy. I wish to watch Severus Snape." A sharp intake of breath was heard on her left—Scabior.

The serpentine man cocked his head to the side, appraising her. Finally, he said "sso why do you come before me disguissed sso? Do you not wish for _uss" _his hand swept over the assembled, "to know who our ssister in arms is?"

She was prepared for this question. "My lord, I did not think it wise to uncover my identity incase you did intend for me to act as a spy for you." His eyebrows lowered, and his eyes glimmered. Suddenly, his voice lashed like a wip.

"All of you. Allow thiss…" his eyes swept her figure, the black dress she wore complementing her petite figure, "lady and mysself some privacy." The black clad figures bowed and apperated away.

She was face to face with the Dark Lord.

He circled her again; taking in her strait posture, form fitting dress and blonde tresses. She stood stock still, poised for anything.

"You are mosst interessting indeed …what to do …what to do. Well, firsst I'll have to ask you to remove your disguise Misss Granger." She showed no reaction to his knowing who she was. He had obviously searched her head already. "Thatss better. Now, _look at me_."

Her head snapped up at the command and he shoved into her mind, shifting through her memories. It hurt, and she was soon on her knees, damp grass staining her dress, as he continued the assault. After what seemed like an eternity, he broke her gaze and chuckled softly.

"Potter will never know what hit him. Stand." She did so, and he yanked her arm forward, grasping it tightly. When he pressed his wand to her forearm, she cried out.

"Stop!" He paused, and looked up incredulous and angry. She backtracked quickly, "my lord, I was only thinking that that is the first place they will look if they suspect me. Could you not place the mark in a more …subtle place?"

He looked pleased at her logic and spun her around. Pulling off her cloak swiftly, he reached the zipper of her dress and drug it down, touching the uncovered skin. She didn't flinch. When the zipper was all the way down, he pressed his wand to the center of her lower back. From the wand searing pain spread.

When Voldemort yanked his wand away and moved in front of her again, she was crumpled forward on her knees, trying not to cry out. Looking up into the cruel red eyes, she suppressed a shudder as waves of pain assaulted her body. He smiled and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"That should hurt for a few days. Be sure _no one _notices. When it burns anew, touch it and apperate. You will find me." His eyes swept her shuddering and gasping frame. "Wear your disguise from now on. Your name to all but me is Liliana. You will go by Lily…" he chuckled to himself, I did not get the joke, "that will make it more interessting… Go now."

I bowed from my position on the floor and gathered myself to apperate. Not knowing how I had made it there, I arrived at Grimwald Place and started dragged myself up the stairs. When I got to the foot of the stairs, I hauled myself up and forced myself to walk, or drag myself, up the stairs. When I reached Ginny and my room, I collapsed on my bed and let the pain take me.

00000000000000000000000000000000

**What do you think? More questions? Good.**

**Next chapter will be up as soon as possible. **

**Link for the dress is in my profile.**


	4. Chapter Two: Orders

**(Music: The Classic Crime)**

0000000000000000000000000000000000

"Hermione, wake up." Ginny shook the sleeping girl, trying to get her to come down for breakfast. Hermione's eyes opened, sleep still clouding them.

"I'm up. I'm up." She said, and sat up, cringing lightly.

"Come on then! Breakfast is ready. Even the boys are awake." Hermione grimaced at this and stood, throwing off her covers. As she straightened, the pain in her back flared, and she felt nauseous from it. Running to the bathroom, she retched up the little she'd eaten the night before. Ginny ran to her side when she realized what happened and held Hermione's hair while she was sick.

When she was finished, Ginny held out a wet towel for Hermione to wipe off her face. Closing her eyes, Hermione felt the sickly feeling throughout her whole body, like poison. She laughed quietly, desperately. That would be like Vold—The Dark Lord; to poison her.

"Are you alright?" the redhead's voice sounded worried. Hermione grimaced; she didn't need the Weasleys worrying over her right now. She smiled up, into her friends face.

"I'm fine. I don't need breakfast," she flushed the toilet, "just go without me. And don't tell your mom—I don't want her to worry." At Ginny's concerned look she finished, "I'm just stressed—and I need time." The younger girl nodded, and left. Hermione was relieved, and relaxed in her position resting against the wall opposite the toilet. Where the skin stretched over her mark, it burned. Immediately, she straightened to take the pressure off, whimpering quietly.

She was tired; it'd been hard to fall asleep the previous night—pain had kept her company until she passed out from exhaustion. Thinking she would go back to bed, Hermione stood and walked to the door. Stopping with her hand on the handle, she locked the door instead of opening it. She realized she hadn't seen her mark yet.

Twisting to look back at the mirror over the sink, Hermione pulled up the back of the shirt she'd forced on while lying awake in pain. She hadn't thought Ginny finding her asleep in _that_ dress would have been a good idea. She'd also remembered to remove the glamour.

The dark mark lay on the skin above her sacrum, in her lower back. It was smaller then those on the forearm of most Death Eaters, only about three inches by one and a half inch. Currently, it burnt back and was slightly raised along the edges. Reaching back, Hermione stroked the branding and hissed in pain. It felt like it was burning a hole in her back.

_Which it is, _she mused.

Leaving the bathroom, Hermione climbed back in bed—trying desperately to sink once again into oblivion.

The next day, her nausea was gone, and she made an appearance for breakfast. Hermione assured Mrs. Weasley that she'd been having 'lady problems' the day before, and needed time for herself. She had to admit, Ginny was good. Very good. Only the youngest Weasley could have thought of that excuse on her toes and lied convincingly.

At breakfast, Hermione shivered until Harry insisted that she go get a blanket. She didn't understand why she was so cold, it was summer and everyone else was fine. After swinging from hot to cold throughout her morning in the library, Hermione realized she had a fever. That was the only reason she woke up this morning with little pain and no nausea. This must be the final stage of her branding: pain, to nausea, to fever. _Fever, _she decided, _is the best of the three._

Harry, Ron and Hermione spent the day in the library. The boys played chess and Hermione read until the clock chimed 11 o'clock and they thought they should get in bed. Hermione brushed her teeth and crawled under her covers with a book on cursed tattoos. Ginny was already sound asleep, and Hermione knew from personal experience nothing would wake her up, so she was free to read as late as she liked. When Hermione finished the section on branding used by husbands on wives to 'claim' them, her back seared with pain again. She arched and sucked in a breath, biting her lip to keep from crying out. Quickly, she slid out of bed and threw her cloak over the tee shirt and jeans she was wearing. She didn't have another dress and she'd be damned if she was going to wear the same one twice. Hopefully, the cloak would cover her 'muggle' clothes. She barley remembered construct her disguise again before she left the room.

She crept down Grimwald Place's stairs and out the front door. Touching her new mark, she apperated and knelt immediately. Dark chuckling came from above, and Hermione looked up from the grass that matched her cloak.

She was kneeling on a large, deserted lawn. How the lawn came to be there, she had no idea and the darkness was so complete she could only see in a circle of light, most likely produced by an enchantment from the Dark Lord. He himself was standing above her, swathed in a cloak as black as the night around them. No stars were visible in the sky. One pale hand gestured, and she stood. A chair popped into existence beside her, and Hermione sat only after the Dark Lord had done so in a chair of his own.

Leaning back, the red-eyed wizard observed her silently for a time, before beginning. "I've thought about your …ussess, Misss Granger. Yess, thought indeed." She worked hard not to shiver at the quiet hissing voice. "You ssay you can help me keep an eye on Sseveruss and spy on the Order for me, correct?" she nodded stiffly, "Perfect. I want you to asssisst Sseveruss on a project he'ss doing for me. Work with him clossely. Take note of the information he passsess to different people and tell me of anything interessting. Your dissguisse needs to be foolproof, so wear thiss," he tossed a ring at her, "and you will appear, even to yoursself, as Liliana. _Lily_." He smiled cruelly.

Hermione nodded, expecting this, and glanced down at the ring in her hand. It was a Claddagh ring with diamonds for the heart and along the outside, obviously expensive. "You will alsso be needing an appropriate wardrobe for this asssignement. Here," he tossed a sack, heavy with galleons, into her lap, "usse this and buy ssome dressesss in Knockturn alley that sshow your mark. I need to ssee it." She though he 'needed' to see something else, but didn't say this.

"Yes, my lord." She murmured, ducking her head.

He smiled at her and continued, "Come here tomorrow. From now on you will report here every day between the hourss of 8pm and 12am ass well ass when ever I need you. You will tell the _Order"_ he spat the word now, "you are renting an apartment while you are living here. After you get those dresssess, find a hotel room and use the remaining money to rent it for a month. You will pretend to live there. Leave everything but your new clothes, perssonal items and wand there. Tomorrow, report to me at 7o'clock. We will go over other arrangementss."

"Yes, my lord." She said again, nodding firmly.

"And Misss Granger?" he said as she stood, "do not think of betraying me. You are no match for my legilimency." His voice was a threat she knew to take heed of, so she nodded and bowed low. Just as she was going to apperate to Knockturn Ally, he called once more. "Misss Granger. When the mark burns, press it and think of the dress you're going to be wearing that evening. You will know what to do with what you get." He smiled thinly at her, eyes sweeping her figure again.

00000000000000000000000000000000

When she arrived at Knockturn Alley, she moved quickly through the shadows to a dressmakers shop. It was amazing the hours that these stores were open.

Entering the shop, Hermione was given a dark look from the black-haired woman from behind the desk. "What do _you _want, Girly?" The women spat from behind the counter.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and gave the thin woman a once-over. "I need some dresses that show my back, my _lower_ back." Her voice was casual and controlled.

The woman rolled her eyes and moved to the back of the shop. She came back with a pink dress that had black designs on the bodice and a rather high back. Hermione didn't think that's what the Dark Lord had in mind.

"Hmm…no. I'll look for something." Hermione moved to the left side of the store and observed the nicest dresses on mannequins. When she found one with a daringly low back, solid, deep black fabric and red accents, she turned to the sales lady and pointed. "Help me get this down?" she asked, inclining her head challengingly.

The woman walked over and Hermione heard her mumble, "I don't know what she's thinking. Going to be raped in the street. Not that I care…"

"What did you say?" Hermione asked, shocked, startling the woman.

"I didn't say anything. Now go change in the back room." She shoved the dress at Hermione who caught it and walked into the dimly lit back room. She stripped quickly, and put the dress on, marveling at the feel of it on her skin. She quickly glanced in the mirror and circled, her new body was more buxom and curvy then her natural one; she had always been rail thin. Her dark mark contrasted drastically to her new pale skin and she was struck with how pretty the contrast of light and dark really was. It was defined; no gray areas. Just black and white.

Then, she exited the changing room and walked to the threefold mirror. Facing the woman, she asked, "What do you think?" and turned slowly, so the sales lady could see her back while she faced the mirror. Hermione watched the woman's face pale, her eyes widen and her sharp intake of breath as she saw Hermione's dark mark. "What?" she asked innocently.

The woman shook her head, and moved away, "I have some dresses over here you might like Misses…" she trailed off.

Hermione took pity on the woman and grasped her forearm lightly, "don't worry. You need not fear me." She still looked frightened, but less likely to pass out. Hermione released her and took the dress offered into the back room.

By the time she was done, Hermione had seven dresses and a pair of pants with a matching corset. She'd picked the original dress, a vibrant red sleek one, a shorter gray number with matching gloves, and three more modest, but still very daring, red and black dresses. The pants were black chiffon with a deep, dark red corset to match. Finally, she wasn't able to resist an ivory and black sundress. Although it looked too 'non-Death Eater' when it was on a hanger, as soon as she put it on, the dress seemed creepier and made her look gaunter. Her skin matched the ivory and contrasted against the black. This was the only dress that did not show her mark.

The sales lady smiled timidly at Hermione when she left, and Hermione felt a sense of accomplishment. She'd definitely be coming back. Realizing she needed to sneak back and couldn't be carrying all this baggage, Hermione walked to an inn in Diagon Ally and prayed someone was still awake. Unfortunately for her, no one was available and the inn was closed for the night. Sighing, she walked to the Leaky Cauldron and rented a room for the night. Dropping her bags there and leaving her cloak, she apperated to Grimwald place.

False dawn was showing over the treetops when Hermione returned, so she headed to the kitchen. On her way there, she stopped briefly by the library to grab a book. After finding a book she wanted, Hermione heard someone enter the house quietly. She snuck to the partially open door to peek.

Severus Snape walked through the front door, and towards the kitchen. His face was pale and drawn, his hands trembling lightly. Hermione drew away from the door as he passed, entering the kitchen. When she heard him open a cupboard, Hermione tiptoed backwards to slide down the wall. She lay there, head pressed into her knees, crying silently and helplessly as what she had done sunk in.

The Dark Mark burned into her skin would never come off. It would always been there—a reminder of her betrayal. She cried for herself, for Snape, for the Order; she cried until she didn't know whom she cried for. That's why, when Snape entered the library with a cup of tea, she didn't notice. Until he sat next to her and touched her fingers cautiously with his own, shaking ones. Reacting immediately, Hermione turned towards him and buried her head in his shoulder. Crying into his blood stained shirt.

That's how Remus Lupin found them the next morning. Hermione's face still buried in Severus' shirt and his head tipped back onto the wall behind them. His hand still on her back from where it had been stroking while she choked on her sobs before he fell asleep—afraid to wake her.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

**Pictures of the dresses and ring are in my profile. However, the dresses do not**__**have low backs in the pictures, but they do in this story. Creative license. (Dress links in order of appearance from the description here.)**

**Please Review. They make me update faster—I swear.**


	5. Chapter Three: Unexpected

**I've reposted some earlier chapters with minor edits. Don't feel the need to reread if you've already read them, but if something's slightly different, that's why.**

**Music: Kate Earl**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

When Hermione woke the next morning, she firmly decided she would never wanted to get out of bed. For the first time in days, she was warm and comfortable, lying in the engulfing covers. As she slowly came into wakefulness, the previous night came back to her and her eyes snapped open and she lifted her head. Half expecting to be in the library with the Potions Master next to her, Hermione was surprised to find herself in her own bed. Thinking about the significance of being in her own room, Hermione's head fell back onto the bed, hard. The reality crashed upon her. He must have carried her up. Fabulous.

Slowly, she closed her eyes and reviews the previous night and what she was going to do next. It seemed foolish in light of the dangers she had firmly wrapped around herself, but the thing that scared her most was Snape's reaction to crying on him and then falling asleep on his shoulder. Presumably that's what had happened. She just hoped he wouldn't tease her mercilessly in front of the Order. She did not need that right now.

But the memory of his trembling fingers reaching out to her resurfaced, and Hermione thought that maybe he was reaching out for comfort as well. From the way his arm wrapped itself protectively around her, the feeling that he needed contact as much as, if not more, then she occurred to Hermione. He had been walking the tightrope she was now forced upon longer then she herself had. She squeezed her eyes tightly, memories of how she'd been driven to this flooded into her mind. These were memories she repressed; repressed but never forgotten.

_I moved closer to the fire warming me, trying to stop the tremors of cold that were rocking my body. Moving to sit on the floor by the fire, I sighed in contentment. It was much warmer on the hearth floor then in the armchair a few feet away. Once again, I opened the book in my lap, reading about the different affects of blood in healing potions. The war was heating up, and the Order had an unspoken agreement that wither or not the school was closed, the children of the Order would not be returning. Another shiver ran down my spine, but not from the cold._

_Trying once again to apply myself to my book, I was startled by the sound of the door opening and closing downstairs. _Who in the world would be up at this hour? _I asked myself, looking at my watch, which read 2:00am. A loud _thump _sounded from the entrance hall, and I put down the book. Cautiously gripping my wand, I moved to the landing, and looked down. A pile of black robes and dark hair lay atop a spreading pool of crimson liquid. Blood._

_Hurriedly, I half fell, half ran down the steps to reach Professor Snape's side. Brushing hair away from his face, I closed my eyes as I felt my fingers slipping over the blood coating his neck. I didn't want to look, I was afraid to, but I knew I had to; so I did. I opened my eyes slowly and focused on my hands, finding his pulse point. Finding it, I was shocked how faintly his heart was beating. _He's going to die, _I realized with a start, and then questioned my reasoning. _Why should I care? He killed Dumbledore.

_The dark man lying, prone, in front of me groaned and shifted, revealing his back to me when his robes shifted. That did it. The raw, bruised and obviously beaten skin of his back was repulsive. The pain he must have felt, must still be feeling, astounded me. Without thinking, I moved behind him and pushed him fully onto his stomach. He moaned, and his face pinched, dry blood cracking around the new wrinkles. _Shit. He must have a broken rib or two.

_As quickly as possible, I healed the gaping, still bleeding wounds on his back, leaving the other, shallower ones in order to conserve my magic. I would need it. Then, more gently then the last time, I turned him over and ran my wand over his body. The tip glowed red twice over his rib cage, once in the middle of his chest and once over his shoulder. He'd broken two ribs, his sternum and, by the look of it, dislocated his shoulder. _That must be bloody painful.

_I rocked back on my heels and thought about the situation. _I'm not a good enough healer for those broken bones, and he's sure to come to when I heal them, because it flipping hurts. And then it will be me against him… _I bit my lip, thinking fast now. _He wouldn't have come here unless he could explain himself. He wouldn't be that stupid. He must have a reason. _That, that clinging to hope that he'd never really betrayed the Order, made me push myself up and run up the stairs almost silently_. Who could I trust not to over react? Who would wait for explanation before doing something foolish? Pause before raising the alarm? _I came to a stop outside Remus' room, and cautiously pushed the door open. I didn't want to knock and risk waking someone else._

_He was lying, sprawled out across the bed, snoring softly. His lanky frame didn't quite fit on the short bed, so his feet hung over even though he was covering all available space. I reached down and shook his shoulder lightly. Instantly, his eyes opened and he stared at me for a moment before jumping up in alarm._

"_Is everything alright? Did Voldemort attack? What—"_

"_No, nothing like that," I assured him. "Remus, downstairs… it's Professor Snape…I need help…I—I think he's dying._

"_Please? Help me. Help _him_."_

After she completed her morning absolutions, Hermione slipped downstairs into the kitchen. Molly was preparing breakfast, and Hermione set to work preparing tea and coffee. They worked in silence for a time, before Hermione remembered The Dark Lord's orders and spoke up.

"Mrs. Weasley, I've been thinking… well, I'm an adult in the Wizarding World now and I decided its time I should get my own place to stay."

She looked up, shocked. "Hermione! Why would you move? We have everything you need here and you're safer here then anywhere else in Britain…"

"It's not the accommodations or safety or anything. I want to have somewhere where I can have space in the middle of all this craziness," Hermione lied quickly, thinking up possible reasons for her move. "I want to take care of myself, to experience life on my own."

The motherly woman nodded, looking thoughtful, "That's perfectly reasonable dear. And, as much as I would like to, I can't force you to stay here…so, helping you is the only thing for it." Hermione swept the elderly woman into a hug. Molly Weasley never saw the unshed tears in the young woman's eyes as she hugged back.

Four hours later, Hermione was saying goodbye to Harry, Ron and the rest of the Weasleys. Harry and Ron understood Hermione's reasons, as much as they didn't agree and the Weasley clan followed their mother and brother's cues in leaving the situation as it was.

"'Bye Hermione. Come for dinner at least twice a week." Said Harry, putting on a brave face.

Hermione grimaced, but tried to pass it off as a smile, "Of course Harry. I have to come back for the library at least. And Order meetings." Both boys grinned at that; they'd been overjoyed when the three of them had been informed they were to be inducted into the Order after deciding against going back to school while Voldemort was at large.

Turning to Ron, Hermione stared at him for a moment before cautiously hugging him. After Ron's romantic advance and her rejection, they're friendship had been slightly strained. He hugged back, squeezing her tightly.

Stepping back, Hermione smiled once more and, turning, opened the door to Grimwald place. Apperating quickly, the first tear hit, not the step of the Orders Headquarters, but the cobble of Diagon Alley.

When she was summoned, Hermione was relieved. True—meeting the Dark Lord was stressful, but she'd been jumpy all day just thinking about the meeting. She considered her wardrobe carefully before choosing a red and black dress with a slight vintage flare for that evening. The accompanying headband looked good against the blonde tresses she now wore. Touching the mark on her back, she thought of the dress and felt warmth spread across her body briefly. Looking down, she saw the black, lacy undergarments she now wore. Donning the dress, Hermione put on her ring and bit her lip slightly—a nervous habit. Slipping on high-heels her father would have called 'stripper shoes' she smiled slightly and looked in the mirror, gathering her thoughts.

She, truly, had no idea what she was doing…playing this dangerous game. The green eyes that stared from the mirror were not _her _eyes. Every time she felt the mark burn or saw a new dress, she felt herself slipping further into the darker version of herself. Liliana. But, somehow, it wasn't just _Liliana. _It was something else. Something lurking under the surface that was distinctly_ Hermione. _Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Hermione touched her mark and apperated to the Dark Lords side.

Her head bent, she worked quickly to gain complete control over her emotions. By the time the Dark Lord had bidden her to rise, she was calm and collected. Today, they were inside a large mansion, or so it looked. The floor was highly polished marble and obviously expensive decorations littered the sitting room they were occupying.

As she met the red eyes staring at her, she felt the Dark Lord invade her mind immediately. Images filtered through her mind's eye. Her cowering under a sink as a troll approached… Ron leaning in to kiss her only to be gently rebuffed… Her, lying in bed and thinking of the knowledge she sought… playing with a bunny in her backyard as a child… research in Grimwald Place's library on dark spells… the pride she felt when Professor McGonagall awarded her house points… her rage at Dumbledore for not allowing Harry, Ron and her into the order… power racing through her veins as she practiced dark spells in the dark of night… her, writhing on the living room carpet of Grimwald Place as Sirius Black took her innocence… realization that the Dark Lord could offer her power and knowledge…

When she was finally released, Hermione rocked back on her heels and released the breath she'd been holding. The Dark Lord's laugh echoed throughout the room as he looked down on her from the thrown like chair in which he sat.

"So He—excuse me, _Lily_," he drawled, voice less snakelike somehow, "you, a girl of barley fifteen at the time, and the great _Sirius Black? _Very interessting…" Mocking.

"Yes, my lord." She smirked slightly, hating herself even as her face formed the smug smile, "He seemed _very…_responsive. And I'm sure my technique has improved if you ever have need of it…"

He smiled cruelly, "indeed. Thiss has caused me to…reconssider my plan. Yes. I think that your _talents_ will allow you more sucesss were you to seduce Severus." He stared at her for a long moment, considering. She stood still, filling her head with feelings of anticipation, excitement and eagerness for the new plan. "You will sseduce Snape, but your ultimate goal is to make him _feel" _he sneered at the word, "for you. When he does, tell me immediately." He laughed softly, eyes glittering.

**A cruel laugh, cut off by a clicking, metallic sound.**

Hermione blinked, that had come out of nowhere. Not her orders, although she was plenty surprised about those, but the sounds that had filled her ears for a moment. Sounds that were obviously not from the here and now.

"Yes my lord, of course." She inclined her head, the metallic clicking still ringing in her ears.

"Very good. Take your things to the room Wormtail leads you to. Tell Sseverus you are there as a _gift_ from the Dark Lord. He is to mentor you are you are to be an assistant for his _sspecial _project. Tell him I expect better results this time unless he wishes to suffer…my _displeasure_ again." She curtsied and exited, feeling the red gaze leering at her the whole time. Closing her eyes in resignation, she swung her hips more then necessary and looked back at the Dark Lord as she exited, giving him a heavy look from under her lashes. She had to swallow the bile in her mouth, rising from his return expression.

When she reached the rooms she was supposed to be occupying within the manor, Wormtail left her and Hermione tried to open the door—only to be burnt rather severely. Cursing under her breath, Hermione tried lock-breaking spells she'd learned from Dark texts she'd studied. Nothing worked and she was distracted by the challenge. So much so, that she didn't know anyone else was in the narrow hallway until she found herself in a headlock with a dagger at her throat.

Terror seized her, and she froze instinctually. The body pressed up against her back was distinctly male and very defined. Even through her dress and the stranger's clothes, Hermione could feel the hard planes of a well-muscled stomach. The knife pressed harder on her throat and a dark, smooth voice sounded in her ear.

"And what, pray tell, do you think you're doing?" She knew that voice. It was the voice that had instilled fear in her since she was eleven. Severus Snape.

"I—" the knife bit harder into the flesh of her neck, "I'm here on orders from the Dark Lord. He said—"

She was cut of by his hissed 'quiet!' and thrust to the side. She almost fell to the floor from the forcible push, but caught herself in time. Turning, she saw the dark man undoing his wards and opening the door.

"Ladies first," he sneered, giving her a mocking bow as he held the door.

She raised an eyebrow and entered, his distain hardening her nerve. The room she entered, the foyer, was decorated with dark woods and shades of black. A fire was warming the room and, besides a few candles, was the only source of light as there were no windows.

After quickly surveying the room, Hermione opted to seat herself on one of the couches by the fire. This seemed, to her, to be what a Slytherin would do in this situation. Keep Snape off balance.

She settled her skirts in a lady-like fashion around her before looking up to find Snape standing next to the fireplace across from her. He was smirking and had one eyebrow risen at her antics.

Swallowing, she allowed a sultry smile to cover her face and watched both eyebrows rise in response. "Severus…" she played with the name, saying it slowly. Teasing. "The Dark Lord has given me to you as a gift. I am to assist you in your 'special project'."

"Indeed? Well, where will you be staying? I will call on you if I have need of help." He didn't seem pleased at the thought of an assistant.

"Here. Like I said, I am a gift for you so that…what did he say. Oh, yes. So that you don't suffer his _displeasure _again." Hermione settled against the cushions of the couch, feeling confident.

"I see. Well then, Miss…"

"Call me Lily." He blinked before moving to sit on the other side of the couch. She shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with his proximity.

Voice dropping an octave and becoming smoother, he continued, "_Lily_ then. Where are you staying? So that I might call upon you if I have need of an assistant." His tone left no doubt that he wouldn't be 'calling on her' anytime soon.

"Why Severus," she cocked her head to the side, "I'm to stay here, with you. You're also to mentor me. But, separate apartments aren't necessary, seeing as we're going to be working so… _closely._"

His eyes narrowed and his slight, cocky smirk faded into a scowl. "If that is what the Dark Lord wishes, of course. There is a spare bedroom through the door there," he gestured to a door to the left of the fireplace, "I will be in my study." With a dramatic swish of robes, he stood and exited through a door to Hermione's right.

She stared after his long after the door clicked shut, then stood and crossed to the room he had pointed out. Opening the door, she found it decorated in deep burgundy and brown. It too was dark and seemingly lush. Shutting the door to the foyer behind her, Hermione surveyed the room before her. A double bed stood in the centre of the room, against the back wall. To her right, a fire sprang to life in the grate there. Another closed door lay along the left wall. Finally, a bureau stood against the right wall.

Taking a step forward, Hermione felt the plush rug under her feet as she moved to the yet-unopened door. Pulling it open, she entered the most splendid bathroom she'd ever seen. The entire room was made of solid black marble with silver for the handles of the sink, shower, bathtub, drawers and everything else. Stepping inside, she was surprised by the heat of the marble, which she'd expected to be cold. _Must be a heating charm, _she thought, exiting the bathroom.

Moving over to the large bed, Hermione ran her fingers over the wine coloured coverlet and continued to the bureau. Opening the doors, Hermione found it already equipped with black, heavy robes, several new, and more revealing then she would have liked, dresses, lingerie, which was, again, more revealing then necessary, shoes and a set of more practical clothing that, she assumed, would be used in the lab. The clothes made her sad for some reason, so she closed the doors and walked across to sit on the bed.

Hermione hiked up her full skirts and bent her leg, drawing her knee to her chest to take off her shoes. Unbuckling the strap around her ankle, she pulled off the first high-heel as a knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," she called and, feeling she'd better get a move on in the whole seduction department, Hermione switched legs, bring up her left one. Snape opened the door, as she knew he would, and paused momentarily as he watched her.

Averting his gaze, he met her eyes and then looked away. He seemed pained. "L-Lily, if you're finished inspecting your apartment would you kindly change into something appropriate for potion making and meet me in the foyer?"

She slid the left shoe off and crossed her legs, he didn't notice. "Of course… Severus." Again, she played with his name.

Without looking at her, he nodded and exited the room, closing the door softly behind him. Hermione frowned; the blonde she looked like was beautiful and obviously flirting with him. Why wasn't Snape responding? With Sirius, she'd barley had to bite her lip to find herself on the floor, his hot breath on her neck. She shivered and walked back to the dresser.

Grabbing a slightly flared, green and black skirt along with a black, skin-tight, short-sleeved turtleneck, Hermione dressed quickly. Deciding against the shoes she'd just taken off, Hermione decided to go shoeless. Honestly, she had no idea what the proper attire for this would be, but she'd been working in her school skirt for years without a problem. Never mind that this skirt was a good 6inches shorter and tighter.

When she exited the room, Hermione found Snape waiting, still in the black slacks and white, collared shirt from earlier. He was wearing black loafers. Raising his eyebrows he asked, "Won't you get cold? Without shoes I mean."

Deciding she would have to play his game to get anywhere in regards to her lords orders, Hermione answered, "Mmm, maybe. You'll probably notice more then I of course…I get lost in work sometimes."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he inclined his head. Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief, as innocent as this exchange had been, she felt it important to insert her presence now.

"Come, I'm to show you the lab." He walked through the door next to the one that Hermione knew to be the exit from the suite. Inside the lab, cauldrons were lined in two rows with five cauldrons each row. Next to each, a table sat with a set of stirring rods, knives and other implements. In Hermione's opinion, it was perfect.

Severus had moved over to the table at the head of the room, the only one with chairs and the only one that was covered in parchment, and gestured to one on the chairs. "Sit"

She did as she was told, as did he once she was seated. "Now," his fingers clicked on the table top rhythmically, "the Dark Lord has instructed you to live in my personal chambers and help me with my current assignment," he paused while she nodded. "Did he tell you what that assignment is?" Curious, Hermione shook her head; "I am to create a potion that allows the drinker to move, think and function at an inhuman pace, something to give, for instance, a duellist an edge over his opponent. I've tried to change current potion's, such as a Stimulating Solution, to fit this need. Nothing has worked, causing me to think it would be easier and more effective to start from scratch." His eyes swept over her appraisingly, "Did I teach you?" he asked sharply, gauging her reaction.

"Yes," the answer slipped out before she had considered it. _Shite, _she thought desperately, _what am I going to say now? He won't remember Lily._

"Did I? Which year are you?" A challenging smirk settled his expression.

Feeling her ire sparked by his complacency, Hermione thought fast, "I was in third year when Potter was in first. Graduated 1994. Slytherin." Her chin rose, daring him to contest this.

His brows furrowed, then he seemed to wave it off, and returned to the subject at hand. "Very well. It's a nice change, having an already trained assistant. I want you," rising, he searched the tabletop, "to read these," he placed two books, three journals and an older looking scroll in front of her, "in the next two days. On Friday, I expect a full report."

"Yes Severus." She said, picking up the books, journals and scroll and moving towards the exit.

"And Lily?"

"Yes?" she turned to face him, eyes questioning.

"As you're…mentor, I suggest you do not leave the rooms. If it had not been me who found you this morning, you would probably be dead."

He watched her pale slightly, and then blush, before dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

She walked to her rooms slowly, mulling over his words. Unfortunately, but unmistakably, he was right. This was a different world then the one of school or the Order. Placing the books on her nightstand, Hermione decided against starting the reading now. After all, she had two days and needed a good nights rest. A bath couldn't hurt either.

Hermione spent the next day reading the books Severus had given her. Instead of staying in her room, as he probably expected, Hermione curled up on the foyer couch and lit a fire in the grate. When the dark man exited his chambers, earlier then expected, he found the blonde perched upon his couch, reading the book he'd given her.

"Morning," she bid him, amazingly cheerful.

He only grunted in response, and conjured some coffee, _black_ she noticed. After he drained the first cup and conjured more, he moved into the lab and wasn't seem for the rest of the day.

That evening, after countess hours spent reading, Hermione retired after giving up on seeing Severus. Seducing him would not be as easy as she had hoped it seemed. Dressing in one of the ridiculously tiny negligees that were the only form of nightwear she could find in her dresser, Hermione closed her eyes for a much smaller time then anticipated.

That was the first of many nights her mark burned black.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Review Please!**


	6. Chapter Four: Ramifications

**I'm sorry this has been so long in coming. I've been struggling through some personal stuff lately, and haven't been able to just sit and write. Much love to some excellent writer's on FF; their stories have inspired me again. Please don't hate me for being away so long! I have everything sorted out in my head (aside from some minor sub-plots), it just needs to be put on paper. **

**I know its been two years since my last update, and I want to say thank you to all the folks still on board—you guys truly amaze me. If you're just joining us, welcome to the ride. Please let me know what you think—I'm still shaking off the rust here—and we'll see how I do. The training wheels are coming off. **

**Reading: **_**Othello **_**(just finished)**_**, The House of Mirth, Schindler's List**_** and **_**Eden**_** (go read **_**Eden. **_**Like immediately.**__**It's one of the best Hermione and Lucius stories you're going to find. If not the best. Probably the best. **

**Fanfiction . net /s/ 3494886 /1/ Eden **

** Note: Remove spaces)**

**Listening to: a whole lot of country. (Somewhere with you – Kenney Chesney)**

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR (aside from the quote, which is Keneally's). **

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

_He won't kill you because he enjoys you too much, my dear Helen. He enjoys you so much he won't even let you wear the star. He doesn't want anyone to know it's a Jew he's enjoying. He shot the woman from the steps because she meant nothing to him, she was one of a series, neither offending him nor pleasing him. – _Tomas Keneally, Schindler's List

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

The full ramifications of what she had done did not hit Hermione until she left the Dark Lord's private chambers, stumbling to get back to Snape's rooms. The last three hours, she closed herself off to the world; not thinking or considering what would happen after she opened the wooden door and crossed the threshold, back into the world. Now, Hermione was realizing that she had signed herself up for the abuse of this fanatical madman. What was worse, the only person who knew what she had done was not to be trusted and didn't know who she really was.

Scraping what was left of her clothes—a ruined, torn and bloodied nightdress—along the rough stones of the wall she was leaning on as she walked, Hermione let lose a peal of unrestrained laughter. Her leg cramped, and she crimpled to the floor. Laughter turned to gasps of pain. Exhausted, Hermione pressed her forehead to the cool wall. Her body ached and throbbed, screams begged to be released; but her reason had taken hold, and the words Snape had thrown in her face rung in her ears.

_If it had not been me who found you this morning, you would probably be dead._

Hermione wished she had her wand. Something to make the pain go away. As she bit her lip, Hermione's body shuddered and convulsed painfully—a result of multiple rounds of Cruciatus endured. A loud groan escaped her lips, and Hermione knew something had to be done before she screamed and woke the entire mansion. Hesitating in painful anticipation, Hermione banged her head hard against the wall. She grunted in pain and smashed her head again, harder this time.

The pain flared, and everything went dark.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

I came around twice that night.

Once, as my body slipped sideways and hit the cold floor. Eyelashes fluttered against my cheek and I stared into the shadows until the torchlight and the darkness behind my lids were the same shade of unkind.

The next time I came to, the warmth of fabric and flesh replaced the cold of stone. Pain traveled in waves throughout my body and I pushed my face into the heat on my right, in a vain attempt to refrain from crying out. Retching from the intense agony, I coughed up something hot and liquid.

_Blood, _was the last thing that ran through my mind before a whispered word, movement in the torchlight, and darkness devoured me again.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Time has another meaning when you fade in and out of it. While conscience, people instinctually know the time of day. The bitter sweetness of oblivion robs you of that basic, primal instinct until you have no sense of anything around you.

When she awoke, any notion of where she was or how she'd gotten there eluded her. Her eyes opened to darkness swimming before them, and panic seized her stomach. Head throbbing, she sat up quickly and assessed the situation. She seemed to be in her bed, in her room (if it could be called that) but had no recollection of how she'd gotten here. A noise sounded in the bathroom, and her body tensed. Listening for feet moving on the tile, the sudden opening of the door was unexpected.

She jumped and watched as an outline appeared in the light cast from the bathroom. The, obviously male, figure spoke a second later and she cursed at herself for not knowing who it was sooner. For being so bloody weak and childish.

"Miss Lily, I expect you in the lab in a half hour. Do not be late." His voice was icy cold, and distinctly Snape. She simply nodded dumbly and watched him exit the bedroom.

_What the hell was he doing in my bathroom? _Her feet hit the carpet and moved forward until they met the cold stone of the bathroom. There, by the light of a single candle, the surface a bath glimmered in the light.

She almost broke down right then and there. Here, in one of the darkest recesses of our world, a place crawling with scum and criminals, a man who she considered her enemy was helping her, supporting her.

_He knows_.

_How? It's impossible._

_Is it? He was the one who found you, carried you home…_

But how could Snape possibly know what had happened, what the Dark Lord had made her do. Had used her for. Thinking about it made her feel dirty, unworthy. She stripped quickly out of the useless cloth she'd been wearing, and submerged quickly in the water. She held her breath for as long as she could, thinking that, just maybe, it wouldn't be so bad to stay there forever.

_You got yourself into this._

_I had no idea what _this _was. Now I do._

_So you're giving up?_

_Never._

When she eventually broke the surface, she began scrubbing herself until her skin was raw and red all over. Her blonde hair was matted with blood from her head wound, but the wound itself had disappeared. Probably thanks to Snape.

_Maybe being the sexy new recruit wasn't the right way to play this._

Ten minutes later, dressed in dark blue denim and a long-sleeve green shirt, she was ready and heading to the lab. Snape looked up at her from the desk, where he was recording something, and raised his eyebrow.

"No skirts today then?" She shook my head, and he frowned. "Make a gelatin base for my next round of trial potions. You may finish your reading another time, I will not require a report."

"Why did—gelatin base? A gelatin base is the worst thing to use in order to make a speed potion. A water base should be used."

"Good to see you are not too self-focused to work. I hate to break you're bubble of self-pity, but you're not the first girl the Dark Lord has initiated for a good fuck. Nor will you be the last. But before he kills you, you might be of some use to me. So keep him entertained as long as possible and get to work. I want three water bases in 15 minutes." I stood stock still, staring.

She felt like she'd been punched in the gut.

_Cheap. Whore. What were you thinking? Playing this game? You're in way over your head._

Her self-conscious had no answer. She was cheap; She was a whore. She had stepped into this game that had been going on for longer then she'd been alive. It had already beaten her.

_No. I will _not _be beaten so easily. I will help the Order and I _will _make sure we win this war. Even if I have to keep Voldemort 'entertained' forever._

So she nodded, and went to work. Within 10 minutes, all she had to do was wait for the bases to come to the right consistency over the heat. Now, she concentrated. Hermione needed to know what to do; needed to know how to keep herself alive.

_You have to complete your mission. You need to seduce Snape._

_I can't._

_Then you may have well stayed under that bath water._

_No! I will. I just need to know how._

_He is a man, is he not?_

_Yes. In theory._

_So what do men like…_

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Silence dominated the remainder of their brewing time. It bothered Hermione. She itched all over, felt eyes coming from the walls, and knew Snape was reading her mind. Paranoid she may be, but stupid she was not. She hoped that the Dark Lord's ring was working, feared that if Snape discovered her identity at this stage he would kill her before she could explain.

The water bases had finished, the water evaporated to leave an opaque semi-liquid substance at the bottom of the cauldrons.

"Snape. My bases are finished." She looked up at him, watching him studiously ignore her as he finished preparing the dragon scales carefully. She found herself observing his hands, delicately handling the precious substance with confidence.

"Very well," his honeyed voice shocked her for a moment, "I no longer require your assistance." Her eyes observed his careful work still, transfixed. She glanced up at his face, smooth in concentration.

"Alright then," she said and retreated from the room. Once in the room, she went through the drawers, desperate for sweats. Her body was beginning to re-stiffen from the previous night and she lay back on the bed, groaning as she stared at the ceiling. Snape's bath had probably done more to prevent the stiffness then anything she would have done. A wave of appreciation for his thoughtfulness swept over her and she rose. Glancing at the clock, she realized it was only about three in the afternoon.

Rising from the bed, she went to the bathroom and drew another, hot bath. Sinking into it, she took a minute to stretch her sore muscles.

_Cruciatus sucks._

She laughed at her understatement and finished bathing, failing to find shampoo or conditioner. Only soap adorned the bathroom. She puzzled over that, wondering if this could be the reason behind Snape's greasy hair.

Back in the bedroom, she found the most comfortable clothes available—plush grey pants and a white wife beater—and walked back into the main room. Looking around carefully, she spotted a door, not far from the lab door, and pushed it open hopefully.

Inside was a kitchen. Not magnificent by any standards, but more then sufficient for her needs. She looked through the fridge slowly; trying not to aggravate her already strained muscles, she decided to make turkey sandwiches. As she pulled everything out of the fridge—a wonderfully muggle appliance for such a place—she glanced at the clock, which proudly pronounced that it was already a quarter until five. The day had flown by and she realized much of her time had been spent either in bed or in a bath.

Stealing herself, she made a silent promise that tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow she would make an impact. Her back twinged uncomfortably as she sliced the tomatoes.

Finishing up the sandwiches a few minutes later, she dared to re-enter the lab. After Snape's outburst earlier she didn't know what to expect. She hoped for a warmer reception this time around. As she pushed the door open, sandwich perched on a simple ceramic plate, she observed him unannounced for a moment.

He had long since shed his oppressive cloak, and his, black, shirtsleeves were rolled up. He moved around the lab with an air of complete comfort and control.

_He really does cut a rather dashing figure_ the thought rose to the surface of her consciousness.

"If your presence is absolutely necessary, may I ask that you _shut the door_," came Snape's languid tones, flowing over the mist rising around his figure, evaporating into his clothing, "the draft, which you've so kindly introduced, is disruptive enough to ruin this particular potion."

She stepped into the room further, chastened by his comment. Slowly, she approached him, walking carefully around the table so as not to disturb him, and set the plate with the sandwiches onto the table. He continued to ignore her—which, she noticed, seemed to be his response quite frequently—for several minutes; only after adding extract of lotus did he acknowledge her presence with a look.

They simply stared at one another for a moment, before one eyebrow rose in question. She explained herself.

"I thought you might be hungry."

"Indeed," he responded, not giving anything away.

She steeled herself, then sat gracefully on a high stool behind her and grabbed a sandwich. Holding his gaze, she took a bite. He considered her for a moment, then lowered himself into a stool and reached towards the plate.

Considering the food for a minute, he took a cautious bite, chewed, and swallowed. Their eyes met again, then she smiled slyly.

"Not afraid of me poisoning you Severus?"

"Only in your dreams would that ever come to pass."

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Please forgive me for any obvious mistakes, and please, please let me know what you think. I know it's short, but I will endeavor to update within a week. **


	7. Chapter Five: Security?

**Okay, I find myself inspired. I have had this particular muse driving me mad and it's about time to dispel it. Enjoy.**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Show me a hero and I will write you a tragedy. – F. Scott Fitzgerald.**

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

The next day woke Hermione with a groan. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and she rolled over. Stiffness had fully seized her body, and she stretched out her long limbs.

It was still disconcerting waking up in such a slender body. Without the ring, her Hermione Granger body was petite but more muscular then her Lillian body.

She laughed softly to herself, realizing how ridiculous she sounded.

_Bloody hell._

Her aching limbs had started climbing off the bed, only to discover they were tense, sore, and overused. Still, she persisted and finally managed to make it off the bed.

After painfully crossing the room, Hermione stood in front of her armoire and contemplated for a moment. Somehow, she didn't think that being overly sexual would get her into Snape's good graces.

Her eyebrow furrowed for a minute, then smoothed as she saw something folded in the corner. Reaching up, slowly still and with a slight moan of pain, she pulled down a pair of crimson sweats.

Something she appreciated about being a blonde—temporarily—was the ability to wear different colours then her brown hair normally allowed.

A plain black tee shirt finished the look, and she slipped into the sitting room. Her body moved slowly, cautiously, trying not to spark pain. As she exited the bedroom, she realized this was the second time she'd worn sweats in front of her ex-professor in the last 24 hours.

If it hadn't been so damnably early, she would have laughed.

Upon entering the sitting room, she spotted Snape sitting in front of the fire on a large armchair. He glanced up from his book shortly at the sound of her door shutting behind her, looked her up and down, then averted his eyes back to the pages in front of him.

"There is nothing to be done for at least an hour." His voice sounded from across the room, "really, there was no need for you to get up at all this morning," he said sarcastically, commenting on her lie-in.

She shot him a glare as she crossed the room and entered the kitchen; he ignored her. Brewed coffee was so much better then conjured—although it would do in a pinch—but the amount of time it took to find the necessary items infuriated her.

Once a steaming cup was in her hand, she relaxed and breathed it in.

_I really shouldn't have slept in._

_It makes him appreciate you during your absence._

_Yeah, right._

Returning once again to the sitting room, she carefully, slowly, lowered herself onto the couch in front of the fire. When she looked up, she found him watching her intently. She blushed lightly and he smirked. It occurred to her that the mood from their impromptu dinner last night seemed to carry over. Really, he was not such bad company.

_As long as he keeps his mouth shut._

_Bugger off. _

_Let's not forget who the enemy is here. Don't get comfortable._

_Is he? Innocent until proven guilty…_

_Not in war._

"So, what have you done so far?" she asked tentatively.

His eyes looked up at her once again and he raised an eyebrow. After a moment, in which she held his gaze steadily despite the now rising blush on her cheeks, he dog-eared his page and shut the book he was holding.

His dark eyes now gave her his full attention, and her breath hitched.

"Well Miss Lillian," he started.

"Lily," she interrupted. He gave her a stern look and she averted her eyes.

"I have been experimenting with modifications of growth acceleration potions, adding ingredients I hoped would allow them to affect humans. Unfortunately for me, affecting the processing speed of the mind is a most difficult thing to do."

"Have you tried something to slow everything down instead of speeding him up?" she inquired.

"No. The problem with is easily grasped with more thought," he challenged her.

She puzzled for a moment before cursing herself softy, "dosing. The dose, how to dose and how to avoid dosing the Dark Lord."

"Yes. I recommend thinking before you talk in the future. Can you guess other problems with speeding up the body's basic functions?" he asked.

She considered him again, her brow furrowing.

"When you speed something up you challenge the laws of physics… power is energy divided by time. So if you force something to happen more quickly you demand more energy to maintain an equal amount of power…" she trailed off, watching his reaction.

"And in terms of a human, how is this demand demonstrated?"

"Mainly… the heart can't take it."

"Precisely."

They continued that way for a time, her mind being stretched as he scoped out the breadth of her natural intelligence and learned concepts.

Abruptly, he stood and walked towards the lab. She started, and realized she was leaning forward, body still, mind whirring. As he opened the door, she jumped up to follow, gasping and groaning in pain as her back cramped and legs complained forcefully.

He appeared not to notice and shut the door. She walked over and opened it again, taking a seat in the same place as she had the previous night. Silently, she watched him stirring and chanting. Then, he added some elixir of roonespoor and withdrew the gold stirring rod carefully.

"Why extract of roonespoor?" she asked softly.

He turned and walked to the shelves, returning a minute later with lovage. As he started cutting the lovage carefully, his voice washed over her, tone soft and informative.

"Roonespoor, as I hope you are aware, succeeds in increasing brain activity and enabling the brain to function at a higher rate. Eggs are most commonly used, however extract is more easily and evenly distributed throughout the brain, therefore effecting thought processes faster and more consistently. Instead of random parts of the brain being affected, the entire brain is stimulated. Complementing this, lovage is used to activate more parts of the brain for the roonespoor to affect," she nodded, following his easily flowing logic as he glanced up to see her reaction.

"But why lovage? Isn't that commonly used for befuddlement drafts?" she asked curiously, resting her chin on her head.

He gave her an apprising look before returning to his dicing, "quite. However, the properties of lovage do not limit its affects to befuddlement. The buds in particular produce this affect when mixed directly into hot liquid. When diced, then crushed with hellebore before being added, the hellebore is able to calm that particular affect most sufficiently."

"Mmm," she replied. After that, they were silent for a time while she watched his hands and he concentrated on cutting the stocks into tiny pieces.

He eventually walked over to get a mortar and hellebore before returning and placing them on the table. Looking at her for the first time since their conversation, he placed a vile between them.

Hermione looked at it curiously before returning her eyes to him. He was once again consumed by the task before him.

She reached forward and grasped the vile. Turning it in her fingers carefully, she inspected the potion inside.

_Am I supposed to drink it?_

_I think that's the point._

_But that what if he's trying to poison me?_

_Then you might as well be dead already. Besides, it will help build trust._

_How very un-slytherin of me to do though…_

She glanced at him, working away, once more before uncorking the vile and swallowing it in one gulp.

It tasted horrible, and she spluttered. He looked at her, innocently inquiring.

She coughed for another minute then, slightly recovered, looked up at him. "What was that?" she asked—almost furiously.

"An invention of mine," he drawled back. "How do you feel now?"

"What do you mean 'how do I feel'?" she asked, deeply annoyed.

He waved away her anger; "how do your muscles feel," he stated, giving her a patronizing look.

"Oh…" she arched her back, and was delighted to find her body bending smoothly, almost painlessly. She looked up at him, her eyes dancing.

His hands were still crushing the lovage and hellebore; he didn't look at her.

She considered him while stretching her muscles; there was some lingering soreness, but nothing more then a usual post-exercise burn. When his hands ceased their movement and he looked back at the cauldron, Hermione reached over and placed her hand on his still one that was lying on the table.

He withdrew his hand from under hers and finally looked up at her. "You are far too trusting. Now come, I will not leave you alone with my potion."

She walked around the desk while he tracked her with his eyes. Then he followed her out the door and back into the sitting room. A clock above the mantle pronounced it was 1 o'clock.

"Are you hungry?" she inquired softy; pausing and watching him resume his seat.

"No. I require very little food." he replied, already picking up his book.

Going into the kitchen, she decided to make him food anyway.

_Men are always too proud for their own good._

Oddly, she was feeling comfortable around him and started to question it. Thinking about it, she started to feel as if she'd been lulled into a false sense of security around him.

_Well it's not like he can very well be horrible to you constantly… even his annoyance has to take a break sometimes._

_He also doesn't know who you are. I'm sure he could keep it up if he did._

As she finished making a quick chicken stir-fry, she mused over how her time here would be spent. Surely, she couldn't be expected to just follow him around all day?

_Somehow, I doubt you'll be telling the Dark Lord that._

Her mood turned black at the memory of the Dark Lord. Of his dark chambers, of his wand, of the pain.

Shaking her head, she walked back into the sitting room with two plates of stir-fry. After handing him one, Hermione perched herself on the floor next to the fire by his feet.

"I told you I did not require food," he said, still holding the plate away from his body.

She shrugged, "eat it anyway." His eyes narrowed, and she took a large bit. Deliberately, she chewed and swallowed. He kept looking at her and placed the plate on the ground.

She tried not to feel hurt.

"So what do you do for exercise around here?" she enquired.

He just looked at her and she feared he would not answer. After what seemed like an eternity, he did.

"I run, but I am going to assume your question was inquiring about the general 'you.'" He sounded condescending, (_but doesn't he always_). "Besides running, some swim. Others simply do nothing. There is no great need."

"Where is the pool?" she asked curiously, realizing she did not know her way around the mansion at all. "And who else lives here?"

"The pool is outside in the gardens. If the Dark Lord did not see it fit to reveal who resides here to you then I will not. Although I would not recommend going… swimming," he made it sound like she was proposing something completely outlandish, "especially alone."

"Perhaps you could take me then," she suggested cheerfully, beginning to eat once again.

He raised both his eye brows at her expressiveness.

**Definitely not a slytherin.** He noted.

Somehow, he had never really believed her.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Let me know what you think! (Even if it's just monosyllabic…)**


	8. Chapter Six: Public Relations

**This was one of those chapters that you continually re-start and that threatens to foil your motivation, but here it is. **

**Please let me know what you think; I'm a certifiable review-whore.**

**NOTE: everything that is **_in italics and underlined_ **is memory. **_Italics_ **are thoughts. **

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

The room was uncomfortably cold even though it was full of people. Hermione sat in a high-backed wooden chair, Snape in an identical one across from her. The Dark Lord sat at the head of the table, attention on someone closer to him.

_I never thought these meetings would be so boring…_

_Well, they do have to plan _sometimes_ after all._

_Indeed. But the Dark Lord being boring isn't exactly good for moral._

The serpent-like gaze swept down the table periodically, calling on people randomly, demanding a report. What would Hermione say? She'd cooked a few meals…?

When his gaze did fall on her during a lull, he smiled. "Misss Lily. Do come here." He stated.

She stood and walked up the mahogany table to his side, her heals _click-clack_ing on marble. She mentally withdrew the boring comment.

"Yes my lord?" she asked, kneeling by his right side, doe-eyes gazing up at his slits.

He turned towards her and caressed under her chin lightly with one cold hand, leaving his fingertips to cup her chin. His lips caressed her cheek lightly and she couldn't help but shiver. His tongue darted out to taste her earlobe, hidden from the room.

"What have you managed to collect for me my dear?" he hissed.

She smoothed her thoughts out, thankful there was nothing to truly hide, "I regret that I have nothing tangible to present my lord. I have, however, began to make advances and…"

His head withdrew from her and his hand cut the air.

The sound of a slap resounded throughout the room. No one flinched.

She tasted blood.

The marble floor was lightly splattered with it.

"How dare you! Do you enjoy wassting my time?" he demanded, voice echoing around the room.

"I am sorry my Lord. I do not deserve your forgiveness. Please, punish me for my wrongs."

_For God sakes, you're not in church._

_Yes, this is much more degrading. _

His face evened out, and his hand reached down once more to caress her cheek.

She almost flinched. Almost.

"You are lucky you are sso… delightful my dear," he said. His face neared hers again, but this time his tongue extended and licked from the corner of her mouth to her cheekbone. She stay very still. He breathed in deeply, his nose twitching. "But don't count on that. Ressume your sseat."

She did.

The meeting continued.

Hermione noticed many interested looks being thrown her way—slyly of course. After all, she was in a room full of sytherins. She returned each one with a flat stare.

_That might have been too bold… think like a snake, not a lion. _

She looked at Snape, trying a gauge his reaction. His face was as impassive as always, his eyes set on the current speaker. His posture was as relaxed as she'd ever seen it, and her mind flashed to his expression during Order meetings. He'd always looked pained, taut, ready to spring. Here, where he should have been in the greatest danger, his palm lay flat and relaxed on the table, his body molded into the chair.

She looked down at the table, brow furrowing.

_Blood. Blood everywhere. The hardwood floor covered in a pool of it. His hand, open and prone next to his body, bloody. His forearm, dark and scarred. And bloody. And—_

Hermione mentally shook herself, pushing the images away with much effort. She focused on a candle burning in its holder on the table. Fire flickering.

Rain pelted the window. It always did here. In the mansion. Smacking and breaking and shattering.

Like glass.

Her thoughts drifted in and out like that, as much as she tried to focus on the speaking around her, she was barely able to with so much rubbish being hashed out.

_It's not like any of the juicy stuff is going to be spilled to the masses anyway._

Quite. After awhile, the Dark Lord called for the dispersal of all but his inner members. Hermione found herself looking up at Snape.

He noticed her gaze, "what do you want?" he asked briskly.

"I want… I can't get into the rooms without you," she said; glad to find an excuse for her staring.

"Wait." he commanded.

She watched him walk up and exchange a word with the Dark Lord, who nodded his consent. Severus returned and grabbed her arm roughly, all but dragging her out.

As they reached the door, a voice behind them rang out, "actually Sseverus. No need for your return, unless you have ssomething ground-breaking."

The man beside her tensed, and turned his upper body back towards the room. "No my lord."

"Very well then."

"Thank you my lord."

His strong grip dragged her out of the room and she looked up. He was pissed.

_Great. Just what I wanted. To be alone with an angry Snape._

He walked briskly through the great hallways, past sitting rooms and foyers. Her stride struggled to keep step with his. Desperately trying to observe the people they passed and their route through the mansion, she eventually stopped dead.

Snape almost succeeded in moving her with just his grip on her arm, but noticed her sudden reluctance.

"What now?" he snarled, rounding on her.

"Can we slow down?" she asked, her tone adopting an annoyed edge.

"Oh my sincerest apologies." He responded, before whipping around and continuing on his path down the corridor. She stared around her before hurrying after him as he turned a corner up ahead.

She was panting softly by the time she reached him, but he did not slow in the slightest. They continued in this way, terse silence hanging in the air, through corridors, up staircases, around corners, until, finally, they reached a familiar door. A thin, black wand in Snape's hand waved over the door as he undid the locks.

_Of course his wand's black. _

"You should probably give me the entry hexes" they were inside the apartments now, "so you don't have to let me—"

Severus' black robes fanned out as he spun on his heel, expression blank. That frightened her.

He advanced, each step deliberate. She took a step backwards for each of his, mirroring his motions.

Her back hit the wall.

His voice was deadly calm, "what an _excellent_ observation. Why, I hadn't thought of that. Forgive me, I didn't inform you of the hexes because I wanted to be removed from an important inner circle meeting to baby-sit you, not because it's dangerous for you to be roaming the halls unattended and, as such, you should have no need for the hexes. So, of course, I'll get right on cluing you in." His sarcasm, logical as it was, made her cringe.

Her eyes couldn't meet his scorching black ones. Instead, she looked at the cufflink on his arm, which was extended to rest on the wall by her head; then averted her eyes back to the ground, nodding slightly.

Turning furiously, he crossed the room—Hermione watched his feet—and slammed the lab door shut behind his imposing figure.

"Shite." Entering her own room, Hermione threw off the tight, black dress she'd warn and rubbed her arms furiously. She could still feel lecherous eyes staring at her bare legs.

A shiver ran up her spine.

Composing herself once again, she sat on the floor in her underclothes by the foot of the bed and recapped the meeting in her mind. Nothing of extreme interest had been mentioned. The most important piece had to have been the recent… forceful conversion of the Head of the Department for Magical Transportation. The implications of this made it unsafe for the order to use any traceable from of transportation, which they had been avoiding already for caution's sake.

She figured that the Dark Lord's anger towards her was also a source of interest, but shrugged that off. Her position was temporary from the start. Simply put, her role here was to do the best she could with the time she had before—before…

_Before he kills you._

_Two steps forward and one step back._

Her mind mused over her recent road-bump regarding Snape, which she considered much more interesting at the moment then her imminent demise.

Before the meeting, he told her pointedly that he preferred leaving things to the house—mansion—elves, and she could take a hint.

_There's the end of the little use you had._

Sighing heavily, she crawled over to the armoire and collected a pair of jeans from a bottom drawer. Fishing blindly with her fingers, she also pulled out a large, but amazingly comfortable, gray man's tee shirt with the logo for the Ballycastle Bats on it.

_A red bat with black robes… grand. _

She pulled it over her head anyway, and marveled at the comfort. Men's clothing really was more practical and comfortable. Standing, she pulled the dark skinny jeans on as well and grabbed a book from the stack by the door. She flipped it over and looked at the title: _Moste Potente Potions._

Her jaw dropped; she could have burst out laughing if it weren't for the feeling of dread that overcame her.

_He knows._

_Impossible._

Nevertheless, she placed it back on the stack and grabbed another, less offensive, title.

Before opening her door, Hermione took a deep breath and steeled herself for what might be on the other side. Exhaling swiftly, she grasped the handle and yanked before she could re-consider. It opened fast toward her, but Severus wasn't in the sitting room. Her eyes closed momentarily in relief.

Seating herself on the couch, she tried to read for a minute before having to re-locate to the floor in front of the fire, her back against his chair. The book was not a hard read, and, as she read it, she thought of and played with theories, considering then disregarding the vast majority. She spent an hour there, not moving except to stoke the fire every now and then.

Behind her, the door to the lab opened, and slammed closed abruptly. Snape's robes—

_Really, does he _never _take them off?_

—sweeping the floor dramatically as he strode to the front door.

His voice carried across the room, "I am leaving. I recommend you do not." Then he was gone.

Her eyes remained fixed on the door for a time after his departure, then, suddenly, she stood. Muscles, stiff from their period of inactivity, protested weakly as she approached the lab door.

Using a detector spell, she ascertained that Snape had a set of personal, high-quality wards guarding his work.

_Of course he does._

Hermione spent the next hour sitting in front of the lab door, trying to discover more about the nature of the wards; eventually, she was forced to retire with a headache.

She didn't hear him come home that night.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

**Review please.**


End file.
